


Glade Mother

by blueberrytea



Series: Moments [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, short things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrytea/pseuds/blueberrytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1. <em>“Groaning,  Thomas stretched out his back and arms. A couple of blankets had been placed over him during the night--someone playing the Glade Mother... ‘Newt found you last night and told everyone to let you sleep.’”</em><br/> <br/>~*~<br/> <br/>This is just a little thing inspired by a quote from TMR (which I'm rereading). There are a few...well..."moments" in the books where I feel like I can elaborate, so I'm gonna write a couple and see how they go.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Glade Mother

  1. _“Groaning,  Thomas stretched out his back and arms. A couple of blankets had been placed over him during the night--someone playing the Glade Mother... ‘Newt found you last night and told everyone to let you sleep.’”_




 

After hours of searching, Newt found him in the Deadheads.

 _Poor shank,_ he thought, then he sighed at his own dumb stubbornness and went to grab some blankets.

Newt had been in this battle for a while, now--his outer self telling his inner self that this boy was nothing to make a fuss over, nor was any other.

In the beginning, Newt had believed it.

But, as the days went on, the constant messages had shrunk down to a tiny, insignificant voice that seemed to nag at just about everything--telling him what to do, say, think--and it was becoming quite the thorn in his side (no matter how puny and trivial). That’s the reason Newt had wanted to deliver a punch straight to its nonexistent stomach when he saw Thomas laying there and his automatic response was to call the sleeping boy a name. Bloody stupid autopilot brain.

Coming back with the blankets, Newt was still fed up with himself.

 _He’s just a bloody Greenbean like the rest of ‘em._  

Or so the voice told him every time he felt a heat rise at the mention of the shank’s name.

Thomas.

Newt shivered, gathering up the blankets that nearly swept the ground. He needed to stop this. What  _this_ was, he wasn't quite sure of, but it needed to be put to a definite end.


End file.
